


body body

by bluelines



Category: Women's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/F, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelines/pseuds/bluelines
Summary: Meghan and Gillian fly under the radar in Montreal, enough for them to get a little bold.





	body body

Nobody knows them here.

The difference is obvious immediately. Meghan doesn’t keep any distance between them. She sidles up next to Gillian by the bar, leaning into Gillian’s side, placing her elbows on the bar and flirting with the bartender. Gillian wishes she could snake an arm around Meghan’s waist, but they’re not there yet. Meghan is there with her, but Meghan isn’t there _with her_. Not really. They haven’t talked about it yet, but Gillian can tell that it’s coming. She’s not sure what she’ll say.

Part of her really wants this. Part of her really wants to put her arm around Meghan so that everyone in the club knows who Meghan belongs to. Part of her wants to belong to Meghan, wants to wake up next to her tomorrow morning, wants this to be more than whatever it is, the sex and the flirting. They like each other. Gillian’s always thought it was delicate, but it might not be anymore.

The other part of her is terrified of Meghan, especially when Meghan turns her head and all of her attention is on Gillian. Her eyes are so blue. She’s easily the most attractive woman that’s ever paid this much attention to Gillian.

“I wouldn’t think of this as your scene,” Meghan says. It’s a chirp, her lip is quirked up the way it is when she wants Gillian to get into it with her.

“You wouldn’t be here if I had no game,” Gillian says, because it’s what Meghan wants to hear.

“That’s not what I said,” Meghan replies. She takes a drink and then bumps Gillian’s hip with hers.

“Just didn’t imagine you dancing,” Meghan says.

“I never said that I danced,” Gillian points out. “I watch girls dance. I buy girls drinks. I ask them about their families.”

“Still sounds like the girl you take home to meet your mom, not to fuck your brains out,” Meghan says. Gillian almost chokes on her beer. At first it’s because of the profanity, not that it’s a surprise out of Meghan’s mouth. When she swallows and a lump gets caught in her throat, it’s because Meghan thinks she’s the kind of woman that would be good with family.

“I can be both,” Gillian says, but her voice is hoarse, and Meghan’s grin says she knows she’s won this round.

-

Gillian loses track of how much she’s had to drink.

She’s not that drunk, she just can’t remember if it’s been two or three. All she knows is that she needs to stop before she _is_ drunk, because she wants Meghan, and she’s not going to do anything with Meghan if she’s actually drunk other than fall asleep on her the second they get back to the hotel. Meghan’s hotel. Gillian is staying in Meghan’s hotel room. (Is it their hotel room?)

Gillian is watching Meghan dance. Meghan is moving her hips, running her hands through her hair, kind of making fun of it but also not really. For a while her eyes are closed, and other women move around her. One in particular hovers, waiting for Meghan to dance with her, bobbing her head. Gillian doesn’t feel anything in particular about it until Meghan opens her eyes, and then a brief moment of terror subsides when Meghan turns to find Gillian through the crowd. She holds eye contact, and something shifts in Gillian. It’s the confidence that she gets from Meghan ignoring another woman for her even though she’s not on the floor.

She raises her eyebrows and jerks her chin up, just once. _Come back._

Meghan comes back. Gillian can’t believe it. Meghan has never, not once, done anything that Gillian asked her to do. She’s almost 100% sure of it.

“Hi,” Meghan says, “change your mind? Wanna dance?”

“No,” Gillian says, honestly. She can’t help herself. Meghan is wearing a dress, and Gillian almost wishes she weren’t, so she could grab Meghan by the belt or something, pull her closer.

“C’mere,” she says instead. Meghan raises an eyebrow but she sidles closer, until Gillian only needs to tip her chin to kiss her. She almost does, but at the last second she redirects, brushing Meghan’s damp hair over her shoulder and kissing Meghan’s neck. Meghan squeaks in surprise, reaching up to clutch Gillian’s forearm. It’s very girly of her. Gillian doesn’t hate it.

“I’m sweaty,” Meghan says, as if Gillian cares. Gillian kisses her neck again, just once more, before she pulls back.

“Could go to the bathroom,” she suggests. It’s out of her mouth before she thinks about it. She hasn’t thought it through, but Meghan’s eyebrows shoot up and suddenly, yeah, that’s exactly what Gillian means.

“Clean myself up,” Meghan agrees.

“Maybe,” Gillian replies.

“Well you have to come with me,” Meghan continues, reaching down for Gillian’s hands, lacing their fingers together. It’s an oddly intimate thing to do, or maybe not so odd, maybe Gillian’s just been assuming that Meghan’s feelings about her are sex-related only.

“Girls go to the bathroom in groups,” Meghan continues, because Gillian hasn’t answered her.

“Girls,” Gillian laughs. She hasn’t been called a girl in a while.

“Yeah,” she agrees, “c’mon.” 

Meghan lets Gillian lead her to the bathroom. With every step Gillian is braver, emboldened by Meghan going along with her, in full view of everyone but especially in full view of _them_. There’s one family bathroom, which is bizarre since they’re in a gay club. It’s probably exactly for this purpose, and disgusting, but Gillian doesn’t take the chance to look. She locks the door behind them and Meghan grins at her.

“You don’t look like you’re gonna be very helpful,” Meghan says. Gillian doesn’t answer. Instead she strides forward and presses Meghan against the outside of the single stall, one hand cupping Meghan’s face when she leans in to capture Meghan’s lips with her own. Meghan places a hand on Gillian’s collar, her other going back to Gillian’s upper arm as before, and sighs into the kiss, letting Gillian taste her gin and tonic.

“People definitely know we’re in here,” Meghan says, when they break to breathe.

“Good,” Gillian says. It’s not true, nobody noticed them go in, but Gillian knows Meghan just wants to hear that it wouldn’t matter. She maneuvers to press her thigh between Meghan’s legs, and the extra inches are just enough for the angle to be perfect. She knows before Meghan even reacts, biting her lower lip and pressing her head back against the stall. Gillian bunches Meghan’s dress up over her thighs and hips and Meghan wraps an arm around Gillian’s shoulders so that she can grind down against Gillian’s thigh.

Gillian has to take a breath. She holds Meghan’s hip with one hand and reaches with her other to palm Meghan’s breasts over her dress, and Meghan groans, loudly enough that it echoes off of the tile floor. Gillian is frustrated for a moment, because she’s not going to be able to do what she wants, which is take her time. She remembers the hotel room and that makes her feel better, better enough. She takes half a step back and Meghan slides back onto the flats of her feet. Meghan makes a frustrated sound, but Gillian is already winding an arm around Meghan’s waist and hoisting her up.

Meghan’s not light, but Gillian’s strong enough to get her off of her feet, just for a second, long enough for her to push Meghan harder against the stall and settle between her legs. Meghan gasps again, wrapping her arms around Gillian’s shoulders, and Gillian holds Meghan there, against the stall. Meghan isn’t really supporting any of her weight with the toes she has pressed to the ground. Gillian hikes Meghan’s other leg over her hip, and Meghan slides a hand into Gillian’s hair and tugs.

“You are so hot like this,” Meghan says. Gillian doesn’t ask what she means. Instead she kisses Meghan again for a second, reaching between them to slide her fingers under Meghan’s underwear. Her and Meghan groan in unison, and Gillian resists the urge to get sidetracked. She strokes against Meghan for a few seconds, and Meghan tightens her leg around Gillian’s hip. 

Gillian kind of wants to hear her ask.

“God dammit,” Meghan says, because she knows, of course. She tries to grind down against Gillian’s fingers, but Gillian’s not having it, and withdraws her hand just enough.

“I hate you,” Meghan says.

“Mhm,” Gillian responds, toying with Meghan’s underwear again.

“Don’t play dumb,” Meghan grits out, “you went to an Ivy league.”

Gillian almost asks Meghan how she knows.

“All you have to do is ask,” she says. Meghan shifts against the stall, but she can’t get any purchase with half a foot on the ground and Gillian pinning her. Frustrated, she tugs Gillian’s hair again and leans up to nip at Gillian’s jaw.

“C’mon,” Meghan says, “fuck me already.”

Gillian’s mouth goes dry, but she stays strong.

“Ask me nicely,” she says. She can’t believe that Meghan is playing along as if she couldn’t toss Gillian back far enough to get loose and wreak havoc. 

“Gill,” Meghan whines, stroking Gillian’s hair now, “please.”

Gillian buries her face in Meghan’s neck and pushes her fingers back beneath Meghan’s underwear. Meghan shudders in delight, grinding down against Gillian’s hand. Gillian doesn’t have a great angle, but between the two of them they get it done, enough so that Meghan is whining and tugging Gillian’s hair and writhing against the stall behind her in a matter of minutes.

“Fuck,” Meghan murmurs. Her voice is raw, like she’s trying not to come, like she’s trying to hold herself back. She opens her mouth like she’s going to speak again, but instead she arches her neck, pressing her head back against the stall one final time. She’s digging her fingers so hard into GIllian’s shoulder that Gillian can feel it through her shirt. Gillian’s forearm is cramped by the time Meghan stops shaking and whimpering, and Gillian feels bad for sort of unceremoniously dropping her to her feet again. She reaches to steady Meghan, who sways, and then laughs.

“You want yours?” she asks, and Gillian feels distinctly uncomfortable in her jeans. 

“Here?” she asks.

“Oh my God,” Meghan laughs again, giddy, “if I can have my bare ass-”

“No,” Gillian says, “it’s not that-”

Meghan goes serious all of a sudden, stepping closer. She unbuttons one single button right in the middle of Gillian’s shirt and presses her hand inside, her fingertips against Gillian’s ribs.

“You want my mouth,” Meghan says. Gillian almost passes out. All of her bravado is completely gone, and all of Meghan’s neediness is, too. The 180 is staggering. 

“Tile would be bad for your knees,” Gillian manages.

“So thoughtful,” Meghan murmurs, leaning up to kiss the corner of Gillian’s mouth.


End file.
